The Duels of Drayakir
by Drayakir Darodor
Summary: The Story of my character, Drayakir, and his encounters with other planeswalkers.


The two spell casters faced each other over the barren wasteland that would become home for one of them. One was garbed in black, with silk black shirt, black pants with a silvered belt, and black leather military boots. The other was an elderly man that would have looked better in a rich home. He was wearing a white flannel shirt, with a green vest, and beige-colored pants, with two sturdy, brown leather boots. He had many silver hairs on his head. However, they were not here for parley. Magic flared in their minds, and jagged lightning sparked over their arms.  
  
The one in garbed in black raised his hand and one of those lightning's turned black, and arced into the waste. A moaning was heard, and a swamp began to grow. Water seeped from the ground, and stunted trees began springing from the earth. The wails intensified as more of those bolts jolted the ground, each one making the swamp grow larger, and faster. He smiled cruelly, as parts of his home began manifesting themselves here.  
  
The other man outstretched his arms, and green sparks emanated from his palms. They started falling next to the swamps of the first person, and trees, live healthy trees started sprouting. Next, white sparks began appearing as well. Wherever those would appear, the swamps would be pushed out by grass. Birds began flitting through the air, and the sweet smell of flowers drowned out the stench of decay from the swamp.  
  
The man in black snarled, and uttered an incantation. The words were a blasphemy against the light, morality undone in its glory. A ball of darkness shot from his hand, and launched itself towards one of the swamps. When it hit, it didn't do anything for a couple of seconds. Then, the water in the swamp began churning, faster and faster, and it formed a whirlpool. At the center of a whirlpool was a hole, filled with a greenish light. The light began seeping out, and suddenly coalesced into a pitiful humanoid creature. It was stunted, and twisted, and had murky yellow eyes. The man in black grinned, and threw a couple more of those pits. Wherever they came into contact with the swamps, more of those pits appeared.  
  
The elderly gentleman was appalled. But then he put on a grim face and said "I am Lan'Tar-Ael, and I will slay you for you perversion against the Light." With that, he closed his eyes, and focused on his lands. The grass and the trees began swaying in his general direction, and suddenly two trees formed an arch with their branches. A green and white swirling appeared, and out marched elves and humans in uniform. They stood patiently, waiting for their master's commands.  
  
The man in black frowned. "I am Drayakir, and I will slay you, and your pitiful suck-ups as well." With that, the water in the swamps began bubbling, and he thrust his hand in the bog next to him. A rumbling deep underwater was heard, and a structure began rising out. It was a mausoleum, and tendrils of darkness poured from the entrance. They grew in length, until they encompassed the swampland. They too began creeping onto the territory of the white planeswalker. And, at the same time, more of those creatures exited the swirling pits. Now, Drayakir's army outnumbered the other one.  
  
"You will not phase me by this." Lan'Tar-Ael said determinately. With that, he drew a circle with his hands around him, and a shimmering of colors appeared. He smiled. "Your foul wizardry will not touch me here." He then raised his hand, and a shimmering sword appeared. "Attack!" he called out to his troops.  
  
The elves and soldiers rushed forward, baring swords, spears, bows and staves. On Drayakir's silent command, the pitiful wretches shuffled over, attempting to protect his master. However, they were no match for the skilled fighters of Tar-Ael's legions. Then tendrils were just waiting for this. As the beings died under the blades of the Light, the tendrils surged forward, and plunged themselves into Lan'Tar. He gasped, and a horrible realization came upon him. He blinked, and a tear trickled down his cheek, for he was about to do something that was unthinkable. "I'm sorry" he said weakly, and raised his clenched fist. He opened it, and suddenly, his warriors stopped. "I'm sorry." he said again, and more tears rolled down his wizened cheek. Then, as on command, the warriors began to fall to their knees, and writhe in pain. The tendrils too, instantly un-attached themselves from Lan'Tar, and darted over to the dying things. As a tendril touched a body, it screamed, and then twitched for the last time, and grew still.  
  
Lan'Tar turned to Drayakir. "You horrible spawn!" he exclaimed, wiping the tears from his eyes. "You killed those people!" His voice grew louder. "They had families at home! And lives! Don't you understand, that they'll never come back, even if brought back from the dead!" He shouted this out, eyes open, and peering at Drayakir. The latter shrugged. "It was you that killed them. Not only that, you also killed these." He swept his arms, showing the stilled forms of the creatures that served him. "They did have an existence before I called them here." He smiled. "Can you live with that?" The old man was outraged. "They were abominations! They came from unspeakable hells, and serve only evil!" Drayakir just said "They were living things nonetheless." He then stopped. "Enough talk."  
  
He put both of his hands up, palms upward, and two bolts of darkness shot up into the sky. One fell down, and split in midair, striking all of the cowering wretches. He grinned. "I don't feel bad!" he yelled out. The corpses of the creature began sinking into the depths of the bog. The tendrils did not touch them. The other bolt crashed right in front of him, and a fissure opened. Muck from the bog began pouring into it, however it soon stopped. Four humanoids wearing armor crawled out. They were the same as the wretches that came out of the pits, put these looked stronger and healthier. They also had long claws on their hands. They looked at each other, and suddenly, they all grew more muscle, more armor plating just appeared, and their claws grew longer. A shudder passed through the forested meadows, and the shimmering of colors became a sphere, tinged with white. "Your fiends will not get to me!" Lan'Tar yelled out. Drayakir looked amused. "Who said anything about fiends?" he mused out loud. More and more creatures boiled out from the pits. And as they glanced at their superiors, they too sprouted some armor, and grew muscles and claws. But that was not the end of it. Suddenly obelisks sprouted everywhere where there were corpses. They began glowing, shining with a reddish light. And the pit creatures began basking in the light, growing larger and larger. Drayakir breathed in relief. His victory was assured.  
  
Suddenly, a bolt of white energy shot through the sphere of colors, and hit his mausoleum. The mausoleum shuddered. Then, it began slowly collapsing on itself, starting with the roof, followed by the columns. Little more was left of it, then a bunch of ruins. Drayakir frowned, now angry. The tendrils disappeared as well. "Your forces are at naught!" was heard from the cover of the sphere. "And you can't get to me!" Drayakir snarled viciously. "We'll see about that! Attack!" he shouted out, and his thralls ran forward, and began clawing at the sphere, but could not get inside. As the attack continued, more and more thralls entered the world through the pits, until the battlefield was teeming with them. Then Drayakir raised his hand, and said, "Stop." The thralls reluctantly left the sphere alone, trudging back. More and more of them joined.  
  
Suddenly two of the trees in the forests uprooted themselves, and began twisting together. The branches merged into arms, the boughs into a body, and the trunks into legs. The eyes were green pinpoints of magic. Drayakir looked at it, unimpressed. He thrust his hand into the waters again, and a second mausoleum began rising. He then thrust his other hand into the ground next to him, and an altar rose. The altar was decorated with grinning faces, and hideous images of strange beasts. However, he suddenly noticed more and more trees meld into the towering wood giant. He frowned, and his hand shot out. A bolt of black magic issued from his fingers, and hit the giant in the chest. The giant staggered back, but did not fall. Then, something began growing on the spot where the giant was hit. It looked gray, and lifeless. Then an anguished cry was heard from within the sphere. It was not growth, but death! The living woods of the giant began decaying, and falling off. Soon, it spread to his legs, arms and head. And then, the giant fell. He crashed upon the trees, and broke many of them. The decay process continued, even faster, now that the giant was dead.  
  
Drayakir laughed. It was a laugh that was alien to hear. It was as though a child was laughing when he got a new puppy, or a lovesick adolescent when he found out that a girl he likes, likes him as well. It was a laugh of pure happiness, but related to death. Another wail was heard from the sphere. Drayakir stopped laughing, and smiled, wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes. "Murder" was all he said.  
  
He beckoned for his thralled wretches to come closer. They towered over him now, but he didn't care. He raised his hands, and a dagger appeared in his hand. A chain was running from the dagger to the altar. Suddenly, more of those daggers appeared, some on longer chains, others on shorter ones. He let the dagger go, and it floated. He the pointed at the thralls. The daggers began spinning, faster and faster until they blended into a circle of whirling blades. Then, they struck at the mass of living things.  
  
Blood flew everywhere, but the chains began glowing, and energy sparked over them to the altar. The altar began glowing. It continued to glow even as every creature around Drayakir was lying dead. The daggers retracted into the altar, melding into the metal. "So. If I can't hurt you physically, old man, isn't it time you grow senile?!" with that, he swept his hand, and the reddish glowing of the altar focused into a beam, and shot at the man. It entered the circle, and a yell was heard. The yell was something frightening, and yet Drayakir listened attentively. "Let's see," he said to an invisible audience. He waved his hand and snapped his fingers. A shadow streaked out of the hand, and entered the sphere. A louder cry was heard, and images began flitting through the air. Burning houses, rape, desecration, murder, and horrible insect-like monstrosities. Then, suddenly the sphere collapsed. The old man was blasting away, shooting ray after ray of white and green energy. "Leave! Leave, you infidels!" Then, the man collapsed on the floor, sobbing. Drayakir approached the man. His hand slid down to his leg, and black sparks began shooting off his fingers, and formed into a ball in his hands. "I do this to help you" he said, and touched Lan'Tar-Ael. The older man screamed, and began twisting around, and writhing on the floor. Gradually, his writhing began to slow down, until he stopped, and breathed out. His eyes suddenly lit up, and then died down, the spark gone from him forever. Drayakir looked over at the altar. "I sure do love my toys," he thought out loud. He then looked around, and saw more of the creatures crawl out of their holes, however, weaker, as their leaders were gone, only slightly enhanced by the red light. He continued looking, and sighed. "Now who's going to chop down these pesky trees." He frowned, and raised his hand, calling more and more dark things to do his bidding. 


End file.
